


Adagio

by channelorange72



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Lots o'angst, on the road, shacking up in a motel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26394340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/channelorange72/pseuds/channelorange72
Summary: On the run.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 23
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

. . . Blinding pain. 

Slow awareness. Eve felt like she'd been hit on her head with a brick. Pain spread across her arms and torso, hammered at the back of her neck. A cracked rib, maybe. Maybe more than one. Her forehead felt scraped and raw. Cooling stickiness that she gradually identified as blood soaked the back of her calf, tracing its way up to a prickling throb. That would be a deeper wound, a hand span below her knee. She was locked in what seemed like a closet, and she ached all over.

She could hear men arguing beyond the closed door. About what? Would they beat her? Rape her? Kill her? Feed her Aspirin? Please? It felt like someone was running a white-hot knife through her skull. 

Outside her tiny space, the argument stopped short. There were a few hissed words that she couldn't make out. Then a sharp, high-pitched sound cut against her ears and made her go numb for a moment. A gun with a silencer made a sound like that. 

Something soft and bulky and wet-sounding hit the door in front of her and slid sickeningly against it to the floor—a body? 

Oh, she was going to faint.

Distantly, she heard the body against the door being dragged away. Metal grating against metal released the locks, and light struck her closed eyelids, reaching her eyes through the delicate translucent skin. 

"Eve, are you ok?"

She knew that voice. But her head hurt so much, all she wanted to do was pull up her knees even tighter against her breasts and stay like that until she disappeared. She was beyond caring about the hands that skimmed over her body, seeking broken bones. Not even the horrific pain of being hoisted into a fireman's carry could make her surface. 

***************************

When Eve woke again, she smelled leather and a warm body. All of her own body ached, but vaguely, the discomfort muted by chemical painkillers. Her right arm was asleep. She was warm, partially curled up on her side, and covered with something heavy enough to be comforting. The position had forced her arms up and together, close to her chin. Her fingertips brushed leather and satin. 

Muffled voices swirled around her. Behind them, there were car sounds, sharp crunches of footsteps, occasional fumblings with things metal. Sharp gasoline smell. 

"Your friend, she doing ok?" Rattle. Clunk. Hum. Female stranger's voice, friendly middle-aged. She couldn't quite place the accent. 

"Yeah. She had a hiking accident yesterday; she's a little banged up. Just catching a bit of sleep, be alright in a tick." Chuckle. Villanelle's ability to change accents never ceased to amaze her. Even through all the pain, she couldn't help but admire it. She even felt a little jealous.

"She took Paracetamol with codeine this morning, hasn't moved since." A metallic thunk. Click, click, click. Rattle. 

"Did you want me to check the oil?" 

"No, I think we should be fine. I'll get her something to drink, maybe, for when she wakes up." 

A smile in the woman stranger's voice. "I bet she'll like that." 

They were moving away, Eve was losing their voices. More words, but she couldn't make them out without forcing the ache in her head to the forefront. It wasn't worth it. 

She was in a car, the back seat. Outside, there was a gas station. Her eyes were covered with a sleeping mask that effectively blindfolded her, blocking out all but faint traces of the daylight. She wanted to push it off, but she hurt too much to move. 

She heard the car door open and felt the shift as Villanelle got in and let in a draft of cold air. Smells of coffee and chocolate mixed in the intimate space. A soft engine shook itself into life, and they manoeuvred out onto what must have been a road.

"You awake, Eve?"

"Huh. Hurts." 

"What hurts, Eve?" The car slowed and shifted towards what must be the shoulder of the road. "Your ribs? Your head? Something else?" 

"Uh-huh. All that. Everywhere." The car eased to a halt, and the engine died. "Hurts everywhere."

"Mmm. Painkillers must have worn off. Here." 

She heard Villanelle move closer; warm fingers close to her lips offered her small, sterile-smelling pills. Eve pulled them out of the light grip with her lips and tried to swallow, only to gag slightly as the capsules hit a dry throat. 

Warm, curved styrofoam touched her lips. "Drink." 

Hot chocolate cooled to a bearable temperature by the outside air, flooded her mouth. With the hot chocolate in her mouth, the pills went down easily. She pressed her head deeper into the wadded up jacket under her head. 

"Go back to sleep, Eve. We're not stopping for a couple of hours yet." 

Eve lay quietly on the car seat while Villanelle drove silently. Occasionally, she found her ears were popping, forcing her to yawn. She remembered the service station lady whose voice reminded her of someone. 

The pills kicked in. 

**********************

Vaguely, she could remember being helped from the car and walking blindly into this room. 

She'd leaned on Villanelle, not trusting her legs after lying for so long in one position and afraid of walking into danger when she could barely keep her eyes open.

It was fairly cold out. She remembered it being late May, but it might be early June by now; she'd lost some time. It should have been warmer. She'd probably lost months instead of days. The outside air smelled of evergreens, and the thin humidity reminded her of clouds. 

She didn't know where Villanelle was now. She kept her eyes closed to avoid another blinding headache. The sound from the television was god-sent. 

The news report broke for commercial. The jingles of snack foods and household cleaners blurred together in her ears. More often than not, though, the advertisements settled into stately, reassuring patterns. Eve laid quietly and tried to identify them before the product being sold to her was revealed at the end. Luxury car. Bank. Phone company. High-end family car. Mutual funds. One commercial didn't speak at all, only made soft, reassuring sounds, and she supposed that its message must be printed across the screen.

A few seconds' sound break was followed by the familiar intro theme of the BBC news. So, they were still in the UK; she just wasn't sure where exactly. 

She drifted when the news broadcast shifted, and David Attenborough's voice came through from the television. She'd recognize that voice anywhere. He was talking about how a male garter snake, who had overslept during the hibernation, tricks other male snakes by giving off a female scent to steal their warmth before slithering away to join the fight for the one female snake. Hmm. Interesting.

The door slammed abruptly, and Villanelle flipped the television off. At least she hoped it was Villanelle. At the moment, if it wasn't Villanelle, she didn't care. She'd rather be killed than have to deal with another migraine. She was dirty and tired and sore and broke; she didn't think she'd make a very appealing target for the local criminal community. Her stomach grumbled, knotting up and sending a flash of nausea through her that spoke of too many days without real food. Her companion's body settled onto the mattress beside her. 

"Feeling better?" Villanelle asked. Oh, thank God. She sounded tired.

"Ummm." She tried to focus. "A bit." 

"Think you can sit up?" Villanelle's words were slow and calm as if she were talking to an animal or a baby.

Eve sighed. "I don't want to." 

Chuckle. "Right." She felt the bed sag as Villanelle leaned over her. An ache spread through her shoulders as she tried to move her hands down, and she whimpered. 

"Hurts?" 

She nodded. 

"Sorry." 

Hands eased her arms down and gently lifted her into a sitting position. Fingers probed the knots in her shoulders, gradually loosening them. Eve found herself melting under Villanelle's grip. Sharply, she pulled away, then gasped as the pain hit. Villanelle didn't try to touch her again. 

She opened her eyes gingerly and looked around. It was a motel room, of course, anonymous and old. The usual greenish colour scheme had been replaced with muted greys, but the same wood veneer furniture lined the walls, and the television looked like it must weigh two hundred pounds. Two beds, a dresser, a table, and a couple of chairs, a door that must lead to a bathroom and another leading outside. 

Shaded eyes studied her cautiously. 

Villanelle's face was a strange one: almost brutally Slavic and intensely beautiful. Villanelle let her stare at her silently for several moments before she got up and extended a hand to her.

"Come on," she said. "I'll help you stand." 

Eve glared at her from under lowered eyebrows. When she made no move to take her hand, Villanelle leaned forward and slipped her right arm under both of hers and cautiously lifted her into a standing position and held her there until she gained enough balance to support herself. When she seemed steady, Villanelle made to let go of her, and almost immediately, her knees buckled. Reflexively, her hands shot out to clutch at Villanelle's forearms, and she was holding her again, regarding her sympathetically. 

"That bad?" 

Eve nodded. 

"Can you walk if I support you?" 

She nodded again. 

"Ok, good. I'll help you to the bathroom. I think hot water'll help some with the hurt if you can get into the tub." 

Villanelle backed up a little, and Eve followed her, stumbling slightly. One foot, two feet. There were at least fifteen more steps before they would hit the tile. Eve staggered. 

"Fuck, Eve!" Villanelle snarled. "I'd carry you if I could, but I can't. Not right now. Come *on*!" 

"I'm trying!" she snapped. Rage boiled out of her exhaustion, and she stepped towards Villanelle, pushing her roughly backward so that Villanelle had to scramble for a moment to regain her balance. Villanelle kept a steady grip on her so that they were braced forearm to forearm as she walked. 

Villanelle settled her down on the closed toilet seat. She dipped her hand into the water pooling in the bathtub and swirled it absently a moment. The liquid rising around Villanelle's bare skin looked faintly and rather appealingly green, though it might only have been reflections of the tile. Eventually, Villanelle raised her hand from the water and twisted the taps off. 

"Eve," Villanelle said softly and smiled a strange, teasing smile, "You can get undressed by yourself, right?" 

"Of course."

She nodded and stood up. "I'll leave you alone then." The bathroom door shut quietly behind her. 

If Eve was ever going to have a look at those injuries of hers, she supposed this was as good a time as any. More injuries to add to her collection. Occasionally she used to count them all. She always started with her feet, cataloging the harmless scars first: the chickenpox scar on her ankle, the knotty white line on her knee from a bike spill, a mean reciprocal BB shot on her thigh. After that, they get less fun to recall. She's never once made it to the scar on her back. Better to stop while you're ahead, she believes, quit moving before you get hurt. 

She stripped, wrinkling her nose a little at the clothes she had been wearing for far too long. The close, steamy bathroom was at least warm enough for her to be comfortable naked. Seated, she could see clearly only that the bandage wrapped around her calf seemed to have successfully halted the bleeding there. She needed a better view. She pulled herself into a standing position in front of the mirror. 

Both her eyes were puffy, and the right one had a pool of black below it. She couldn't remember having been walloped in the face, but the bruising might have originated higher on her forehead and gradually settled into the hollow of her eye socket. 

To know any more, she was going to have to strip the bandages off her ribs. Her fingers felt thick and awkward as she fumbled with the knots. When the fabric finally gave way, she let the elastic strips fall without assistance. 

What faced her in the mirror made her draw breath sharply through her teeth. To say she was black and blue would be putting it mildly. In places, the bruises couldn't be covered with both her hands.

It's no wonder her body aches if she looks like this. It didn't feel like her ribs were cracked, but she's probably going to be bruised for weeks. She shudders to think about what shape she'd be in now if Villanelle hadn't bandaged her. 

Oh. 

Villanelle had seen her naked like this already, then. The mirror had steamed over to the extent that she couldn't see herself clearly anymore. She eased her way across the room and lowered herself into the tub.

**********************

She was dreaming.

It was a dream she had since childhood, repeatedly returning with the same clarity and experience. It began on a train. Not a regular train, but the sort of kiddy train she had ridden in amusement parks as a child. Open at the sides, with a plastic canopy and wooden bench seats. It was winter in the dream, but a magical winter of endless crystalline snow and tall pines. Reaching over the side of the moving car, she ran her fingers through the snow, and it felt like sugar.

She felt wonderful, delighted with the shifting color of the landscape, somewhere between day and night. Even though she knew their destination, she was not yet worried.

Eventually, the train stopped. She was standing in an empty hall. Vast and concrete, as different from the winter wonderland as dream is from reality. Surrounding her, standing as still as dolls, were hundreds – no, thousands, once she knew enough to quantify them – thousands of people. They were waiting.

Turning her head, she looked for her mother, but she wasn't there. A strange man stood next to her, a short distance away. He too, was waiting. At his side, tethered to his wrist by a leather leash, was a dog.

Then, the mood of the dream shifted. The people around her began to climb on top of each other, screaming and tearing at each other in a desperate need to get out. The man with the dog turned, and suddenly he was right there, inches from her and the dog… oh God, the dog. It was changing, shifting, growing into something black and terrible, with glistening fangs and fur that cut like fiberglass shards.

That was usually when she woke up, screaming.

Of course, she had discussed this dream with her therapist, back when she thought she could be helped. A transitional dream, representing the journey from innocence to knowledge, from girl to woman, from daughter to lover. How depressing, she had thought.

But tonight was different. For the first time in her life, the dream was not exactly the same.

She was on the train, certainly, but it was smaller, shabbier, and the worn wooden seat cut into the backs of her thighs, causing her to shift constantly. And she was not alone.

Villanelle sat next to her on the train, her body pressed against Eve's shoulder in order to fit into the narrow car. When she reached down and ran her hand through the snow, the colors began to shift, like phosphorescence in the south seas, trailing after her fingers. Villanelle pointed to the sky, and she looked up to see the aurora borealis shifting above them, coloring the woods in shades of lime and lavender. When she lifted her fingers from the snow, she realized that instead of the sugar-grains of previous dreams, she held galaxies, spinning and pulsing in her hand and then winking out, melting there. It was marvelous, and Villanelle slid her arm across the back of the seat behind her.

But by the time they reached the empty hall, Villanelle was gone. Disappearing as surely as the melting galaxies. She knew she should be looking for her, but she couldn't move. The people surrounding her pressed forward, surrounding her, smothering her with their fear.

The man with the dog was there, but he was standing far away from her, in the corner. He was no one and everyone again, as common as sand. She watched the dog with apprehension.

But it was not the dog. It was the man.

Without warning, Villanelle appeared behind the man and sunk her teeth into his neck and tore a piece of his throat away. He began to convulse, to scream, pulling at his throat, spraying blood everywhere before falling to the ground with a hollow thud.

Villanelle was screaming for her, telling her to run. But she couldn't, because then Villanelle would be alone.

The creature stared at her, it's shining black eyes as slick as oil. It made no noise but moved like a human, fluid, and strong. Villanelle was nearly there, shouting and cursing and pushing people down around her.

The creature seemed to sense it's impending death and turned in time to see Villanelle bear down on it. In a moment, it was all over her, slashing and tearing. And Villanelle was dying, dying right in front of her. And Eve was screaming, over and over - primal and anguished.

**********************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback, as always, is very much appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

***************************

Waking in the night.

Eve tried to register what she'd heard, but all that came to her was the cold, fearful sensation in her chest. The Doppler effect of a car approaching on the highway cut sharply through the room. The door was cracked open, that was why she could hear it. Villanelle was gone.

There it was again—a brief, high-pitched sound like air rushing, and a thud.

Eve pulled herself up in bed and wrapped an arm around her bare knees. The t-shirt Villanelle had given her to sleep in had sleeves that brushed her elbows, but it did little enough to keep her warm. She didn't have her phone, didn't have any clothes, and didn't have any money. Her self pity kicked into full gear when she realized that probably no one was looking for her. She'd antagonized the very few people left in her life that she wouldn't blame them if they were relieved to be rid of the chaos she brought into their life.

The clock between the beds counted off twenty-five minutes before Villanelle came back.

Eve had long since lain back down and curled herself into a sleeping position. Villanelle slipped in, pulled a gun from her jacket pocket, and threw it on the chair next to the clothes she was supposed to wear in the morning. Villanelle had watched her so neutrally, offering a cellophane-wrapped sandwich and tea that she'd somehow coaxed out of the rickety motel room coffee maker.

It occurred to her as Villanelle started to strip now that she didn't realize Eve was awake. Villanelle moved differently when she thought she was out of Eve's view. Her studiedly casual pose had gone the way of an over-eager puppy. The woman opposite her displayed a mass of raw nerves and energy. Muscles in her leg flexed and stretched tight as she bent to unlace her boots and pull them off.

Eve thought idly as Villanelle shed her jacket and the zippered sweater beneath that she looked like a hungry animal, all muscle and nerve and smooth, glowing skin. It was intimidating. And extremely sexy.

She must have made a sound, then, because Villanelle spun sharply around and stared wide-eyed at her through the darkness. There wasn't any way to disguise the fact that her eyes were open. Somehow in the last few minutes, she had pulled herself into a half-sitting posture that left her entirely visible. The faint light slipping in below the curtains was more than enough to show her that Villanelle was blushing. It was a strange effect, one that kept her perfectly still as Villanelle moved towards her.

Eve instinctively drove her back against the pillows. Villanelle looked like she was bleeding just beneath the surface. She looked like pain. And very, very young.

If she stayed this close to her, Eve was going to touch her, and there was no way she could justify it.

Villanelle pulled roughly away from her and crossed the room to her own bed. With her back to Eve, she sighed, "Go to sleep, Eve. We're leaving at dawn."

**********************

The 'Heston Services' was doing respectable sales when she followed Villanelle into the service station. The triple murder in Amesbury was most of a week old; top billing was reserved for the two men found dead east of Enford the previous day.

There were no suspects yet. The earlier killings had yielded no fingerprints and no leads. The Wiltshire Police requested any information the public might have on any of the murders.

Villanelle was being charming. The girl at the till looked ready to elope with her. From her position near the door, she could see the rapturous intensity in the girl's eyes, so searing she almost gave off sparks. Privately, Eve marveled at how so few people registered how lethal she could be. The good looks were probably a distraction. Maybe all the girl saw was the beautiful woman somehow attached to the frail woman hovering in the doorway.

In the car, she asked Villanelle, "It was you, wasn't it?"

Silence.

She hated this. They were in the middle of nowhere, and she had no power at all. If she even knew where they were going, that would be something. She wanted to hurt Villanelle enough to make her give something away.

"You killed those men," she said.

Silence.

"Did you enjoy it?" She kept her voice flat and calm as if making a routine inquiry.

Silence.

Rage. "Tell me!"

"Yes, I killed them. No, I did not enjoy it. The three I shot when I came to get you. The other two got away from me until the night before last. They were coming for you. They were carrying guns. I shot them in the parking lot, and I dumped the bodies in the back of the motel." And she had heard Villanelle's silencer in the night. "I think that was all of them."

God, she was tired. They had started the trip hurt and exhausted, and it had already gone on too many days.

Villanelle asked, "What do you really want to ask me, Eve?"

Pause. "Where are we?"

"Twenty minutes east of Upavon."

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know. We drive until you are safe."

Eve turned her attention to the car radio and began twirling the dial. Chamber music intercut with soft-voiced interviews filled the space between them.

Abruptly, she asked, "Why did you come for me?"

"You don't know why?"

That stopped her. "I don't know," she said.

"Neither do I."

"It was your decision, remember?" she continued, barely containing her rage, "You made the decision to walk away and never look back."

"Because I thought that was what you wanted!"

Eve pressed her fingers against her temple, trying to quell the rising ache. This was going nowhere. But she had so many questions.

"Why were those men after me?"

"They are trying to teach me a lesson for going rogue."

"So, I'm just a pawn?" She tried not to sound resentful.

Villanelle was trying to appear neutral, nonchalant even, but Eve could see how her hands were gripping the steering wheel and her teeth grinding as she gazed straight ahead.

Eve was vaguely aware of it being dark outside and very late, and of being nearly asleep. The highway was congested with semi-trucks and headlights. She drifted.

**********************

In the motel room on the outskirts of Upavon, Eve grabbed the toothpaste and began brushing, removing the taste of smoke. Villanelle had raised her eyebrows when Eve had asked her to get a pack of cigarettes during their rest stop. But she was too stressed out to care.

The only thing that kept her from taking up the addiction full time was the terrible after taste. During her rebellious teenage years, she would quickly grab a cold soda and a bunch of fresh mints to get rid of the taste, and then tiptoe back to bed, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards outside her mother's room. Not that anything would have happened if her mom had heard her. Her mother would never have suspected her of insubordination. Still, the covert operation of getting out and back in without waking anyone made her feel dangerous. Odd to think that her life had felt exciting in those days, pivotal - like walking a tightrope. Looking back, it was full of the mundane and banal concerns of every high school student, but sometimes she misses those times nonetheless. Especially now.

Villanelle came in late in the evening with a plastic shopping bag gripped her hand. It didn't strike her, at the time, as strange that Villanelle should settle behind her on the bed and run a warm, soft palm over the back of her neck, or that she should accept her with this kind of comfortable silence.

"How are you feeling?" Villanelle asked.

"I'm fine."

Villanelle drew her back against her chest and ran her fingers through Eve's hair. "Mmm. Does anything still hurt?"

"No."

Villanelle traced the fading bruises around her eye. "It's going to be all right," Villanelle murmured. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

She could have taken almost anything from Villanelle except this strange compassion. Then she moved away, the motion so abrupt that Eve nearly crumpled without her support.

"Hungry?"

"Yes."

Villanelle gestured at the shopping bag on the table. Eve crossed the room and settled down in the chair to sort through its contents.

The Skippy was open; it looked like Villanelle had been eating it with her fingers on the way over. Digging deeper, she found oranges and retreated back to the bed, rolling one between her palms.

Villanelle's eyes imitated her motions of eating. Peeling and tasting the juice that leaked out of the skin. Her hands were sticky, and Villanelle's eyes were clinging to her. Nearly colourless liquid ran in droplets towards her elbows. She sat cross-legged on the bedspread and segmented the fruit, pulling it apart and sucking at it gently a moment before ripping out the centre with her tongue.

Villanelle's expression was mild, but her eyes were blazing. Eve was soaking wet all over, and the whole room smelled like oranges.

It would be so easy to stand up, take her hand, pull her from the floor, and lead her to the bed. So easy to shed her clothes and all her inhibitions and just give in to the mutual need and attraction. Get it out of their systems and go back to the status quo. So easy. And ultimately so dangerous.

"Villanelle….?"

"Mm?"

She shook her head, trying to throw off her jumbled thoughts, wishing to hell that Villanelle would just stop staring at her and wanting just as desperately for her to close the distance between them, "Nothing. Forget it."

**********************

Eve dreamed that she was outdoors, somewhere with thick trees and years worth of musty leaves covering the ground. The air was icy. Close to her, there was a campfire.  
The smoke smelled good; she could feel the scent gently penetrating her clothes and hair and settling into her body. She was sleepy and relaxed, fading in and out of awareness of the scene.

She could remember all the colours of the day. This was a kind of wild forest, coloured in deep shades of green and red and brown, and it felt amazingly old.

Distantly, she could remember a fenced place and the terrible cold and fear that went with it.

Men were moving around her in the firelight. Their bodies cast strange, lopsided shadows all around her.

She only registered Villanelle next to her when the men moved as a group and pinned Villanelle to the ground. There were hands on her chest and knees on her shoulders and bodies weighing down her legs to keep her still. When the knife came out, fire-hot and gleaming, she started screaming.

**********************

Eve was screaming. That was all Villanelle could think as she was ripped out of a nameless dream. Eve's shrieking had her on her feet before her eyes were even open. Eve's desperate cries exploded in volume as she stumbled over to her bed, her arms leading the way, fighting the way her head was spinning after standing too quickly. Eve was flailing violently under the confines of the twisted comforter.

"Eve, wake up!"

Eve's fists were caught at her sides, battling in vain with the thick material that kept her pinned against the mattress. She kept fighting, and the veins in her neck surged and strained against the confinement of her taut skin.

"Oksana!"

The tears on Eve's cheeks were hot against her hands as she ran them soothingly against her flushed face. "Eve," she tried to coo, "Eve, wake up." Eve fought her touch, trying to squirm away from her as she pried the blanket from under her shoulders.

"Oksana!"

"I'm here, Eve."

Her voice wavered only slightly as one of Eve's hands broke free and clamped on to her upper arm with the strength of a python.

"Wake up now, Eve. I'm here."

Eve's mouth was distorted in a snarling frown. The ragged edges of her throat hissed as she inhaled.

With a grunt of effort, she pulled Eve's shoulders up from the mattress and gave her a firm shake.

"Eve, wake up!" Please. The nightmare that held her refused to break, though her cries began to turn into deep, gut-wrenching sobs.

"I'm here. Eve, listen to me. I'm here. You're having a nightmare. You need to wake up now-"

"Villanelle -"

"I'm here."

Her gulped breath caught in a swallow, as Eve's eyes opened, unfocused and confused. Villanelle couldn't help the soft smile that formed across her face as Eve's gaze slowly landed on her. The tension in her shoulders ebbed away, slumping her forward against her in a sloppy embrace. Eve's warm body pressed heavily against hers, and she welcomed it, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle.

In the safety that accompanies the darkness, Villanelle felt Eve sigh against her, wrapped around her like a wet towel. The sensation of arms curving tightly against her back left a niggle of guilt in the back of her mind. It was rare that she had the opportunity to hold Eve; it felt odd. Faintly sexual. Definitely not something she was used to. Her left hand circled almost dreamily at the base of Eve's neck.

"You were gone."

"I'm not gone, Eve. I'm here."

"No." She heard the catch in Eve's throat and felt her ribs swell around a large swallow of air. She was shaking hard. "In the forest, by the campfire. It was so cold. You had a grey wool blanket . . . you were wrapped up and leaning against me, you looked so tired . . . and, oh god, they had a knife in the fire and...you died. You were gone. I was alone."

Her heart turned over inside her chest. "Oh, Eve." Her arms tightened around Eve, and she scooted a little closer to her on the mattress.

Against the curve of her neck, she felt a hot tear fall and run down her shoulder. And then another, just before the wet sensation encircled her ear lobe. Heat and pleasure. Her heart rate doubled. Was Eve's mouth was suckling her ear?

"Eve?"

Eve whispered, almost inaudibly: "I want to kiss you."

An ache opened up deep between her legs and began to unfold, rushing through her body in every direction. She sighed against the raspy whisper Eve left on her cheek. Then Eve began the trail of slow, wet kisses up and over her eyes and down the bridge of her nose. Her body was screaming for more. Her mind, the stronger of the two, won out. Get this back to where it should be, she told herself. Take control again. She is just responding to the shock. That's all it is—shock from the dream.

Hesitantly, she held Eve's face steady and pulled her own away. "Tell me about your nightmare."

Eve's eyes, half shuttered, followed the sleepy movement of her lips. "No."

Eve looked as exhausted as she felt, with her hair pressing flat against the left side of her head and her face lined with drying tears. She wiped her palm across Eve's jaw to erase one.

The hand that rested against the thin cotton on her back crawled around her side and found her right breast. Eve watched her face as she felt her fingers tightening, and then slowly releasing. Then, gently pressing and kneading. Eve's fingers set up a rhythm that was so exquisite that she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep the moans of pleasure away. What the hell was she doing? Seducing her? Impossible. She was too casual, too calm. Eve's face remained neutral and curious as if she was studying her reaction. Unnerved, Villanelle tried to keep her face neutral. But her fatigue kept her honest.

A satisfied glint lifted Eve's lips as her eyes slipped from Villanelle's face down to her hand. Her breast. Her right hand raised and cupped her other side.

Villanelle felt her inner muscles contract involuntarily. Eve was feeling her up, wasn't she? Eve's look of fascination left her confused.

"What are you doing, Eve?"

Her own hands had slid down Eve's neck and found a rapid pulse. Eve's eyes widened. "You're so . . . perfect . . .." Eve's tongue flicked over her bottom lip. "I always knew . . ."

"Knew what, Eve?"

"That you are so . . ." Her gaze raised again, and she found her eyes without letting her go. Something new had registered in the depths of her pupils.

"Villanelle ?"

"Hm?"

"Does it bother you that I'm. . . touching you?"

Good question. "Uh -" Villanelle licked her own lips, and Eve's thumb found her raised nipple. Don't close your fucking eyes, she reminded herself, trying desperately to remember why she couldn't just give in to the sensations. This is what she has always wanted. She had dreamed of this a million times before. She had brought herself to so many orgasms fantasizing about what Eve was actually doing to her right now. Obviously, Eve was trying to arouse her. Wasn't she? Or was this still connected to the dream she'd had? Touching her to see if she was alive. And, fuck, she was alive. The blood couldn't be forced through her veins any faster. But she was all about doing the right thing these days, even if it never made sense to her. She could have very easily taken advantage of Eve's vulnerability to get what she wanted, but she wanted to do right by Eve.

"You should get some sleep," she managed without much of a shake in her voice.

Eve's hands ceased their caress. She wanted to scream out in frustration. "I shouldn't touch you?" Eve seemed almost perplexed.

"I think you are just too tired and exhausted."

Then, Eve's hands left her, and the cold air rushed in, tightening the peaks of her nipples to points of pain. Villanelle retreated as well, noting that Eve didn't seem in the least bit awkward about her unusual behavior.

"Eve? Do you think you'll be able to sleep now?"

Eve gave a casual shrug as her eyes slid back down to her chest. Smirking at Eve's blatant ogling, Villanelle pushed herself up from the bed and headed back to her own bed.

Glancing back, she noted how different Eve seemed. It wasn't like her to be so calm and completely focused at the same time. Or, rather, it was, just not with her as the object of her attention. That was the difference. She had caught Eve looking at her many times before, and every single time, Eve would look away, and a mask of detachment would come over her face. She wasn't used to Eve looking at her like she was at the moment. When her face was more relaxed than she'd ever seen it. She was so . . . still.

"Eve?" She paused for a moment, "Why did you touch me?"

Eve shrugged, and for a moment, she was sure she was going to say something else. Her eyes didn't look away. She didn't attempt to hide from Villanelle.

She nodded and turned back to sleep.

"Villanelle?"

"Hm?"

"You really do have beautiful breasts."

A moment passed before she could think of an appropriate response, "Uh... I know."

She turned back to see a faint smile on Eve's face. "Of course, you know."

"Are you okay?"

"Actually," Eve said, flopping her body back down on the mattress, "I feel a little drunk."

"We had a big day. Try to sleep."

Eve nodded and curled onto her side. Sleep. Sounded like heaven. Her mind played back the images that had just transpired. Maybe Eve was still asleep. Maybe Eve was in a waking dream. Hell, maybe she was.

She stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the phantom hands on her body, over her breasts. She closed her eyes. Fuck Eve. Now she was never going to get back to sleep.

**********************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :D I'm not a UK native, so please do forgive any geographical inconsistencies.


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